


Loneliness has really got you twisted

by saynomore



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Liam, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Light Dom/sub, Loneliness, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Self-Acceptance, Sexuality Discovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 02:46:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saynomore/pseuds/saynomore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shakes himself, because out of all the things to be in this situation, that is the most ridiculous. How could he be jealous of a woman? How could he be jealous of the way she carries herself like she knows how she looks, like she wants to be taken over? The feeling before strikes back in him, of wanting to be spread out, just the way she is. Of wanting someone to look at him the way he should be looking at her. </p><p> </p><p>prompt: liam is famous for the ability to fuck a girl's brains out, but the truth is that he's always wanted for someone to do it to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loneliness has really got you twisted

**Author's Note:**

> For the Bottom Liam Ficathon.

Sheia comes over three minutes before seven, bringing a bottle of wine curled under her elegant, dark fingers. Her smile is beautiful, and it’s what made him talk to her in the beginning of it all, made her approachable in a terrifying sort of way. She has her hair down, and he’s never seen it quite this way before. He thinks it’s- relaxed, she was going to the salon to get her hair relaxed the last time they saw each other. Sheia has the ability to make him feel like a child with the way she speaks, makes him feel like he’s got his tail between his legs. Maybe it’s why he’s attracted to her, as fucked as it may be. She doesn’t beg, doesn’t seek his approval or worry about what she’s doing, and it’s so very sexy, in a way he’s never been able to come close to pulling off.

“Your hair looks nice,” he says, and she pats him on the chest and walks past him to set the wine down. He can’t help the feeling he gets in his gut when he sees her trail her hands over his marble countertops and look out over the city through the tall glass windows, and he knows that he never asked for her hand in marriage, but he can’t help but feel the slightest bit cheated. 

“Smells good. What is it?” She asks, voice low and collected. 

“Pasta primavera.” She raises her eyebrows at him and her berry lips tug into a smile. “Made it myself.” 

“Really now? A man who can cook, you know the way to my heart.” It’s a joke, but it isn’t funny. He swallows down the rest of his wine to chase away the gnawing feeling that spreads to his toes.

They eat in mostly silence. She faces the window, and every time she forks another bite of pasta, her bracelets clank and ring shrill through the room. He wants to ask her how it tastes, if she likes the bruschetta, if she thinks the sunset looks especially beautiful. He takes another sip of his wine.

They leave the dishes forgotten on the table and make their way over to the couch. She gets up and puts in a movie, some french film Harry left over the last time he’d brought Nick around. He doesn’t like these types of films. They’re always two steps ahead of him, and he feels like he’s missing something that should’ve been obvious but he wasn’t bright enough to catch. Sheia seems enthralled, though, her eyes glued fixedly at the screen. It cuts to a night sky, and shows the stars for what seems like far too long for a movie, even for such an artsy film as this one. 

The pause soaks up the empty sounds of their apartment. All at once Sheia turns on him, bridges the gap between their bodies and gently climbs onto his lap. Her jeans are tight against her legs and they fold easily over Liam’s as she tilts his jaw up for a kiss. He settles his hands on the small of her back and pulls her forward, so her ass is resting right over his dick. She doesn’t take control, doesn’t make a move to do anything other than press her lips to his, and Liam has to remind himself that it’s his job to initiate. Fish out of water, he wants to ask her where they should take this- he wants her to press him back against the cushions, to stick her tongue into his mouth not as gently as they’d done before. He wants her on top of him, bracketing him instead of sitting on his lap, and the scenario flashes out across his eyelids so quickly that he stops what he’s doing completely to entertain the idea of being the one who’s laid down. He’s stirring, suddenly, and she shifts down into his lap just in time for them to groan together. 

“Bed,” she pants, and climbs off his lap. Pulling him behind her, they step through his dark apartment to the last grey door. She’s on the bed immediately, laying back and unbuttoning her black blouse. He knows she’s teasing him, trying to get a rise, and it must work well for her with the way she’s looking at him. He thinks of the other men who’ve been in his shoes and wonders what’s so different. Why the way she teases herself out of her jeans and panties isn’t getting to him like it should. She does have a beautiful body; her skin dark and smooth and softly curving in all the right places. It fits her, to be spread out like this with sultry eyes, and it catches deep in his throat, because she looks so out of place in the middle of his mattress. He should be ecstatic, he should be shaking with the primal need to cover her body with his own, and instead he’s- what? Jealous?

He shakes himself, because out of all the things to be in this situation, that is the most ridiculous. How could he be jealous of a woman? How could he be jealous of the way she carries herself like she knows how she looks, like she wants to be taken over? The feeling before strikes back in him, of wanting to be spread out, just the way she is. Of wanting someone to look at him the way he should be looking at her. 

He fucks her on his grey bed in between his bleached sheets. He tries to chase away that the entire time she was spread out for him, he was thinking about being on his back. She tells him he’s amazing, and he makes her cry out at least three times, shuddering back down on his dick and balling the sheets in her fists and he just watches, the way the blush works its way down her deep brown skin and her eyes screw shut when he ruts just right- he chases it all away, swallows down the pang of stark, blunt envy that takes him over as she comes and comes apart. 

He gets up to towel them off and his legs are shaking so bad that by the time he gets to the bathroom he’s forced to collapse against his shower tiles. 

Sheia’s eyes are still closed when he returns, and he nudges her to go clean herself up, because he knows she’ll regret it if she doesn’t, but she’s completely unresponsive. He wonders if she can sense him next to her.

The expression her face wears isn’t new to him. No one had ever told Liam that this happened after sex, that women would sort of fall out of themselves in this way. It scared him shitless the first time it happened, with his very first girlfriend up in her bedroom above where her parents slept. She came to eventually and assured him that everything was more than fine. Something was lit inside her, and it made every muscle in her body soft. It’s the same one that every woman he’d been in bed with had, right after the consuming mental shutdown. He wishes he could know where they went in their heads. What it could feel like to think of nothing at all, to be taken away from yourself so completely.

He switches out the light. If she wants to clean herself up, she can get up on her own. He needs sleep, and a proper breakfast, and his morning run. He needs to chase it all away.

\--

Liam should be more scared about loud, banging noises in his flat, but only two other people in the entire world know the combination on his door, and he doubts that Paddy would drop by unannounced at past three in the morning. 

Zayn stumbles into his room so wasted that he can’t even walk straight. His eyes are bright crimson, and Liam doesn’t want to consider for a moment that it could be something besides the tears. Instead, he slides over in his bed and lets Zayn curl up to his back and cry softly into his shirt, the tears soaking through to his skin.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asks as gently as he can manage, but Zayn still starts at the words. He hiccups an answer and it causes both of their bodies to jump, sending a stutter through Liam’s chest. He hates seeing Zayn this way more than anything in the world, because he just doesn’t let things get to him. It’s what’s so frustrating when it’s the other way around and Liam feels ten again, crying into his mother’s shoulder as she pets his back after one of his hardest days, her sweet perfume soaking his tears away. It’s going to be awful to wake up to Zayn’s swollen shut eyes in the morning, but he’s had to do it a scary amount in the past couple of months.

Things with Perrie-

they’re awful. He thinks back to the days when his blind jealousy wished for Zayn to see her the way the boys always had; using him for his fame and money and face, for his kindness and his faith in people. It makes him sick, how he used to wish that on Zayn, because at least he used to be ignorantly happy. It didn’t matter why she wanted him, it only mattered that she did, because Liam knows firsthand that old crushes flare back hard when you can get anyone that you want. But he knows how much it all fucks with your head, because even when it’s clear that someone is using you, it’s not as clear that the next step is to leave. Not when you’ve bought a house and an engagement ring and their affection. Not when you’re in the spotlight so much that any hope of normalcy is lost, and worry turns into acceptance that you’ll never be with someone who only wants you for you. 

They fall asleep like this, with Zayn’s shaking hands carved over his chest, their combined heaviness weighing down the bed and filling up the small room.

\--

He wakes Zayn up with a kiss to his neck and a cup of blazing coffee. He doesn’t open his eyes but he takes the cup and drinks all of it in seconds, and then flops face first back onto the bed. Liam doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all. He curls into Zayn’s shoulder, rubs his hand in circles over Zayn’s small back, knowing Zayn can feel the words he never said through his touch. 

\--

“She doesn’t want to get married in Bradford. She says it’s because of the tour, says she won’t have time to ‘adjust back’, and when I asked her what she meant, she said that Bradford is my old life, and that I’m moving onto ‘greater’ things, and she just wishes I could realize it.” His voice is scratchy and Liam wants to tuck him back into bed, because he looks too small for the kitchen, for the heavy London traffic and the heavier grey smog. He looks too small for the weight of fame, for his fiancee who doesn’t understand the most important parts of who Zayn is. He wants to protect him forever, to hole up in his house until it reeks. To ignore obligations and phone calls and showers and just marathon game of thrones until they fall asleep.

“I said I wasn’t going to get married if it couldn’t be at home. And then she just stormed out, saying that I was the most selfish person she’d ever met. She said she sometimes thinks we shouldn’t get married at all.” Resolutely shaking his head, he knocks it back to down the last few drops of his coffee. When he’s done, Liam goes back to the counter, the clink of the ceramic lip of the mug against the machine the only sound in the still room.

 

“You know that if things ever get really bad, you can come stay with me as long as you need to, okay?” 

Zayn nods and looks down at the table. He’s a mess, hair downy and fluffed up in all the wrong places. He has dried tear tracks around his eyes and his eyelashes are clumped together. When Liam sits the cup down in front of him, he only blinks before taking another long sip. 

Liam knows Zayn. He knows the difference between his brooding, his heavy moods that control him, and when he’s grieving for a purpose. For the most part, he just needs someone to break the case he builds around himself. 

“I know you don’t like her. You and the boys never have. I just never understood why.” He laughs at himself, looks out the window and curls his mouth up. He dusts something imaginary off his sleep shirt, the pull of the fabric not quite enough of a distraction. Glassy eyes are something Liam can’t allow, he never can, so he cups Zayn’s hand against his mouth and smacks a huge raspberry on the back of his hand. 

It works. Eyes wide, he jerks his head to Liam and surges forward, knocking plates off the table as he wipes Liam’s spit all over his skin. He doesn’t notice the stickiness over the lightness of Zayn’s fingers. It leaves him warm, when Zayn’s eyes light up at the contact, at the stupid play, at Liam. 

“That’s so gross, man.” But he’s laughing, tears gently smudging around his eyes instead of falling quickly down his face. His lips and nose are pulled up in the cutest, most natural way. It’s the type of satisfaction he only gets from bringing Zayn back to the surface. It’s accomplishing something that he believes only a few select people on the earth can.

“Louis’ done things at least twenty times as gross, and you know it,” Liam berates, wiping his own arm off on his shirt. He can see the thank you written in Zayn’s eyes as he laughs some more, voice narrow and strained. 

They clean up together and bump shoulders at the sink. Liam washes and Zayn dries and puts the dishes away, never having to ask which cabinet the measuring cup fits in, which drawer the silly floral serving spoons his mum gave him go, waiting to be used again. It’s a bit sad, how they all know these sorts of things about each other without asking. How Niall could recite the first numbers of his credit card, or Lou could tell him the first day he got beat up in school, or Harry could laugh about the first girl he kissed. But something about the way Zayn moves in his house, the way he flits around his huge kitchen with a softer stride, makes it somehow different. Liam tries to recall a time when Sophia stayed with him like this, if she knew where he kept his forks and placemats, which lightswitch was for the garbage disposal. Zayn looks at him and smiles, like he knows what Liam’s thinking. Like he might be thinking the same things. 

\-- 

“Do you remember Nate? I think he was there for my birthday, was it two years ago?” 

“Nathan, yeah man, he was sick,” Zayn smiles, the caps of his teeth biting into his lip. He needed the release, just like Liam’s learned. He lets the ignorant comments and the passive aggressiveness and the bullshit fester in his mind, he lets it get to him in a way that only intoxication or destruction or art can break away, and it’s terrifying to witness. Liam’s the type to quick anger and apologies five minutes later, but things just don’t work that way with Zayn. 

“Yeah, he’s- he’s a great guy. He stuck his neck out for me in secondary school, yelled at the boys on the track team when they pushed me around. He was actually quite popular, and when he came out, it really changed the way people thought, like- nobody got pushed around anymore, not for that.” Liam knows Zayn’s looking at him again, like he knows exactly what Liam isn’t saying, but he lets it slide. 

“He’s the blond one, right?” 

“Yeah, that’s him, and I think he was there with Tom, you remember him, red hair?”

“Yeah, man, they’re engaged, right?”

“Yeah. Dating since they were fifteen, I think.” 

Zayn smiles down at him. “Cute.” 

“Yeah, they really are, and he just texted me yesterday. Says they’re down because Tom’s doing promotion work here, and they wanted to take me out. Tonight, like. Might be the perfect thing.” Liam likes that it’s so easy with Zayn, because they get along with the same people. The rest of the boys never liked Andy, never said as much, but Liam didn’t need them to. He knows he can be a bit obnoxious and rude, can say the exact wrong things. He’s sandpaper, sometimes, just a bit too abrasive and rough with people. It’s hard for them to understand how far back him and Andy go, how much they’ve gone through by each other’s sides. But Zayn doesn’t bat an eye at the snide comments and off behavior, because he knows. He always sees the best in people. 

“Sounds good.” Zayn says, carting the trash can back to it’s place under the sink. “When are we leaving?” 

It makes him grin, their smiles infectious, because Liam didn’t have to ask. “Like, eight. They want to go to some bar on the east end.”

\--

The arctic monkeys comes on, but it’s lost to the amber in their veins. The bar is so dark that he can only see glimpses of other people. Men pressed up against each other in a way he has never seen before in person, and he didn’t realize what Tom meant when he said you’ll have a good time, Li, I swear, with a wink that made him think twice about bringing Zayn along. 

When they stepped inside the doors, Zayn let out a huge laugh and headed straight over to the bar, winking at the bartender as he asked for an old-fashioned. It took him a moment, much longer than it should have, to realize that there were no women. It wasn’t flashy, wasn’t neon and thumping, with shitty house music and disco lights like he’d seen in the movies. Most of the men were wearing work clothes, button ups or jeans or biker jackets. There was some gritty loud tune playing over the speakers, something like the music Louis would force him to listen to with headphones shoved over his ears and half of a smile. 

He feels sick, suddenly, Tom’s hand on his back burning into his shirt. If even one person on the street saw him walk in, if one of the many men standing by the bar pulled out their phone, he was absolutely done for. He can’t laugh it off like Zayn, not worried about people making assumptions because he has a girlfriend, dates girls, likes…

It isn’t about the spotlight, not when he really thinks about it. People make baseless accusations all the time. And it isn’t about his parents, who kissed Nate on the head and told him how proud they were after he came out. 

Liam’s had to fight for the person he is since he was four, laying in a hospital bed with tubes in his arms, showing up to school for the first day with holes in his shoes and his sister’s shirt because of it. 

There’s only so much a person can fight for.

Nate pulls him aside after the first few songs. “You know that it doesn’t matter, yeah? Nobody here is going to notice, I promise you.” He pats Liam on the shoulder, understanding swelled in his eyes. “These men have enough to worry about themselves, like. These bars are a safe place.” He drags Liam back before he can register Nate’s words, and they don’t come slinking back to him until after his third drink. Until Zayn is smiling warmly at him, eyes lit up from the light by the bar. Safe place.

They get dragged onto the dance floor, which is nothing like any of the clubs Liam has been to. People are actually dancing, arms slung over shoulders and hips, strings of guitar and heavy bass filling up the room instead of computerized beat drops. Nate’s laughing into Tom’s neck, swaying side to side with Tom’s arm looped loosely around his shoulders. Liam stares at the contrast, the way their matching button ups and broad shoulders compliment each other so well. Tom’s muscles fit over the broadness of Nate’s back so naturally, as if their bodies were sculpted for each other. 

He smells Zayn before he feels him, pressing harsh against his back in one movement. 

“You’re staring.” Liam blushes hot, feeling Zayn’s body right behind him as he looks at Tom and Nate kissing, and something rushes deep to his chest. 

“Not that I blame you. You have some attractive friends.” Zayn rasps, and he wonders just how many drinks Zayn snuck past him. He doesn’t feel quite sober enough to push him away, because self preservation is nowhere near as valuable as feeling him this close. Everything goes cloudy when Zayn mouths at the back of his neck and grinds forward, sparking not so gently through Liam’s stomach as the sure line of his dick presses against his ass. The alcohol makes him dangerous, reckless, knowing that he’s going to regret everything and not once caring. It’s so easy to press back against Zayn, and when they meet halfway, Zayn groans low in his ear, shifting his arms tighter around Liam. He can feel more than see the way the song gets rougher, men around the bar pressing closer to each other. The headiness takes him over when Zayn grinds up against him once more, and he lets his eyes close to the beat of the music. Zayn loops his arm around Liam’s front to keep him close, palm flat against Liam’s stomach. He’s never been touched like this, and the affection strikes so deep within him that he stops thinking and just feels Zayn. His arousal peeks all the way to his toes, and it strikes him suddenly that sex has never felt this good. Stripping a girl from all of her clothes, pushing deep and unraveling her, has never felt as good as the way Zayn leans into him. 

The song ends with Zayn laughing and stumbling away, swiping a hand across his mouth when Liam turns to look. Zayn’s grinning, teeth white and teasing, but there’s something reciprocating in his eyes that Liam just can’t shake. Nate and Tom make their way over, lost in their own world. Nate’s arm is still slung heavy over his boyfriend’s shoulder, and they both have smile creases by their eyes, bright red lips from kissing. Tom jerks his head to the door, and Nate raises his eyebrows questioningly. And it’s sobering, in such a sad way, the way they laugh at each other, arms entwined. The way they kiss once they’re on the curb, then giggling maddeningly when they remember they have company. Almost enforcing what Liam’s been thinking about so much more lately, and the weight of what he can’t have is swept when they pile into the back of Nate’s car. Liam swears he feels Zayn’s eyes on him the entire time, can feel his presence stronger than anything. Shark to blood, Zayn can sense it. Liam can feel in his gut that something’s broken, something’s changed between them. He feels oddly sober and so insanely lost in the haze at the same time, and he swears he can feel the car shaking from his heartbeat. 

The minute they get in the door Zayn’s on him, pushing him against the door and sucking Liam’s lip into his mouth. His mouth is numb and his vision clouds over, the feeling traveling to the tips of his fingers as Zayn ruts against him. The screaming wall of sound from the fans, the chant of his name alongside his four best friends, his mum’s sobs when she found out he made it through, mum, we’re seeing the judges, it’s happening- it all falls at the feet of the way he feels when Zayn presses him harder against his large front door. 

And it’s all jerked away from him at once when Zayn pulls off him, wipes his mouth and avoids his eyes, taking all of the other good things with him when Liam’s door bangs closed in his wake.

\--

 

Niall calls him three days later with an apology on his lips. Zayn told him not to call, made him swear it or else he’d go to Louis’, and Niall would never let that happen.

Perrie moved out of his apartment. She packed her things, and Niall drove Zayn over that morning. Liam should go visit him. He’s a wreck. 

The words fly by on the other end of the line, and as soon as he processes one bit of information, Niall keeps talking. Niall’s patient with him, answers his questions with no hesitation. He’s the best friend out there.

“Oh, and Li?” Niall adds in after Liam says a rushed goodbye.

“What?”

“Please be careful.”

\--

It’s not twenty minutes later that Liam’s on Zayn’s doorstep, heart in his throat. Nialls’ words reel around his head like film. Perrie moved out. Perrie moved out after Zayn kissed him up against the door in his apartment, and it wasn’t the moment. It wasn’t the day, it wasn’t the burning need to touch anyone else. It wasn’t his friends, it wasn’t a pity kiss. He felt something in Zayn that night, something that he feels has been brewing for far longer than he’s noticed. He hears padded footsteps walking carefully up to the door, the slide of the lock cutting through the still morning air. 

His hair is a mess, and his eyes are wide as the moon when he sees Liam on the other side.

“Right. Niall must’ve called you, then.” He can’t live with the way Zayn rakes his fingers through his hair like he’s ruined everything. He sees the same worries etched on his forehead that Liam’s worn all his life. He sees the downward curve of Zayn’s frown, the slouch of his back. Defeat. 

He does the only thing he can think of.

“I need you, Zayn, and you need me.” All he can do is nod, his brown eyes finally settling on Liam’s. 

“Yeah, I know, babe. God, Li, I know,” and it’s over. 

Zayn kisses like fire, and his touch burns all the way through Liam’s clothes. It feels so much more monumental without any alcohol to slow his mind down, to quiet the churn of his gut when Zayn cups his jaw in his hand. This is nothing like candy lips, like sweet floral breath and hitched sighs. He feels his life in their kiss. He feels his loneliness melt away into the warm air when Zayn brushes down his jaw. The moment swallows them whole and Zayn laughs into the open spaces, pillowing his forehead against Liam’s. 

“Can you believe how stupid we were?” He says, his laugh catching on a choke of a sob, a held breath that turned wet. They’re magnets to each other, in the dim light of Zayn’s shadowed house. He can’t wait to fill all of the spaces. Can’t wait to leave his stupid large windows behind, to bring his mum’s china and use it to eat macaroni when they’re too fucked out to actually cook. He can’t wait to see Zayn every fucking morning, to have someone mess up his sheets and forget to make the bed when he’s not there. He can’t wait to live.

“Zayn?” It’s the reason why he came, and the vocalization of it has been burning at his lungs since the night at the bar. He had forgotten, the wish to help a friend in need overshadowing what he’d been ignoring for so long. He’s done fighting himself. 

“Hmm?”

“Fuck me.” Liam manages to sound sure of himself, and he sees the stumble over the word that Zayn takes.

“What,” he gasps between them. Liam feels the shock in his stance, still pressed close to Liam. 

“I want you to fuck me, Zayn,” and it’s all it takes before Zayn is shoving him back through his stupidly big house.

“Anything, Li.” But Liam feels it in the way he strips Liam’s hoodie off his shoulders that Zayn’s thought about it too. He could tell that something had broken inside of him with Perrie. He could hear it in the pauses between words at the kitchen table while he poured Zayn his tea. She didn’t need him like he needed. She didn’t crave him, didn’t chase him like he pursued her. There was nothing reciprocal about their relationship. No intimacy, once they got past the sex. He lost his footing in the chaos. Lost his reason to be there at all.

Zayn needs this as much as he does, and the thought follows them all the way past their trail of clothes to the bed. 

“Lay down for me, Li, can you do that?” The notes ring shrill through Liam’s ears. He’s the hardest he’s ever been, and the rough stretch of cotton across his exposed skin makes him feel vulnerable in the best way. He knows how he looks. Liam’s never been good at hiding what he feels, and being in Zayn’s bed is no exception. 

“I’m gonna get you ready, okay?” Zayn’s gentle when he hitches Liam’s legs apart but not with the first press of his finger. He swears that Zayn can see his blush work down his back, but the intensity of the pressure inside of him makes him push down against it instead of hiding from his fingers. He groans at the way Zayn folds his body over Liam’s, the contact searing through his skin just like at the bar. There’s no mistaking where the power lies between them, and Liam chokes at the now lubed hand sliding patterns across his lower back. 

Zayn bites into the back of his shoulder and slides two fingers in at the same time, and stars catapult themselves across Liam’s vision. He can feel the steady throb of Zayn’s dick pressed solid against the back of his hip, can feel Zayn’s arousal the way he pants out nonsense into Liam’s ear. 

Zayn grabs the back of Liam’s head and shoves him farther into the couch, shifting both of them when he rests all his body weight onto Liam as his other arm wraps around Liam’s stomach, just like it had when they were at the pub, only the warmth is believable, it’s everywhere. Liam feels on the brink of forcing himself up so he can take a greater breath of air, but right as the thought occurs to him, Zayn drives straight into his prostate and he blanks. 

“You’re doing so good, babe, I knew you’d be so good for me.” He’s working himself in faster, and all the discomfort is thrown out the window when he picks up his pace and fists Liam’s dick in his hand, gentle to the contrast of the pace he’s fucking Liam.

“You gonna be better for me, yeah? You gonna come, so you can be tight around my cock?”

He can’t help but let out a groan, deep and gutteral and god, he’s so glad his faced is pressed into a pillow- but when he makes the sound Zayn presses hard just under the tip of his dick, and he shoots white over the sheets before he can even register what’s happening. Zayn feels so raw inside of him, and the soreness of being forced down makes it’s way through his muscles, and he still can’t catch a breath from the press of the pillow against his face. 

It’s bliss.

The slide of Zayn’s dick cutting out of his heat sobers Liam up, and he flat out whines before he can stop it. 

“I know, Li, just give me a sec, okay? Can you turn over for me?” He doesn’t understand how Zayn can communicate with him, his pretty flushed red dick curving so obscenely upwards, the condom already abandoned somewhere in their sheets. How he can think through the fog of arousal. Liam turns slowly, and a sort of pain shoots up him when he twists too far. He doesn’t want it to ever go away, doesn’t want to think about the memory of what might be their only night like this.

When he rests fully on his back Zayn stares down at him, like he’s searching for something over Liam’s skin. He thumbs at the bruises on the back of Liam’s neck and hips, the risen imprints from the sheets down his chest, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. 

“What?” Liam manages, intending it to come out a lot stronger than it sounds.

“It’s dumb, I-” Liam shakes his head, bringing a thumb up to carve over Zayn’s eyebrows. 

“You’re not.” Zayn smiles and grabs his hand, kissing it. He starts teasingly sucking Liam’s finger into his mouth, and Liam rucks up his knees to make Zayn lose his balance. 

“You shit,” he grunts, making Liam laugh as he topples closer. Liam starts to come back into himself, starts to fly down from the clouds at the way Zayn’s eyes look in the light. He thinks it’s something like hope, that makes him feel like staying instead of running away. 

“I just- you always gave me these looks, like, I don’t know, Li,” he shakes his head, looking somewhere down Liam’s chest instead of in his eyes. It’s nothing like the outright confident dominance he exuded only a minute before, and it makes Liam’s heart beat faster between their slick chests.

“Like what,” he whispers. He can save vocal chords for the morning. 

“Like you’d let me do anything to you. Do you know how terrifying that is?” The room stills around them. Zayn grabs his hand, sensing that Liam needs a bit of encouragement. 

“I’d never-” he can’t finish, and he can feel the red of his cheeks. There’s no way Zayn doesn’t see it now, not with the soft light from the lamp and the natural flicker of blues and oranges from the city below. Zayn spares him, just squeezes Liam’s hand reassuringly. 

“I didn’t know it could feel like that. I mean, like, it’s never. Felt that way. For me.” He knows he’s a stammering mess, but it finally feels like something’s settled in him, despite how frantic his heartbeat may be. He feels the complacency melting away at the soft look in Zayn’s eyes, the brush of their fingers a riptide. 

“Had you ever done this before?” It’s the darkening of Zayn’s eyes that clues Liam in. It’s almost a test, something Zayn had to force out of his now tense lips. He doesn’t know what to make of it.

“What, had sex?” Zayn smirks and slaps him on the chest, hard, and it leaves a pretty red mark. 

“Don’t get smart. I mean, like. Have you, you know, been told what to do?” He means held down and fucked, but he’s being so easy on Liam. It must take a lot of patience, for him to be so careful. He loves him so fucking much.

“No, and never, like, with a guy.” Liam breathes. “Have you?”

“Like, here and there I suppose. Harry wanted to break me, paraded me to every gay bar in Italy last time we were there. Said the cheekbones would be good for sucking cock.” He shrugged with such an innocent smile, and Liam positively flushed at the mention, his sore dick jumping at the thought. 

“I’d like that, I think,” he murmurs, Zayn looking at him curiously.  
“You want me to suck you off, babe? I’d let you come in my mouth.” He’s going to have to get used to Zayn’s dirty mouth. He seems to like riling Liam up. It’s an absolute menace.

“You never came, so maybe, I could...for you,” Liam gets out, and he hadn’t really thought about it, but suddenly it’s all he can think about. Being on his knees for Zayn, or being held down, Zayn pounding rough into his mouth so he can’t breathe. “Get on my knees for you.” It’s not what he intended to say, but Zayn’s eyes glaze over, and he rolls his hips against Liam to relieve the pressure. 

“Li, you don’t need to do anything for me. I just had the best sex of my life.” And there isn’t anything Liam can do but kiss him, addicted to the obscene slide of their mouths together, and he knows sure as anything he wants to feel Zayn just like this.

“Please,” he pants, and Zayn cants hard into his thigh.

“Jesus, Li,” he pants, kissing his jaw before sitting back up. Zayn splays on his back with his elbows propped under him, as Liam’s seen him to a thousand times. Except this time, there’s such intent to the curve of his chest, the cut of his broad shoulders and skinny waste. He can’t believe he’s gone this long without it. 

He starts slow, with Zayn’s hands landing gently in the folds of his hair. He wraps his lips around the head and tongues experimentally. Zayn immediately moans, sliding his hips up a tiny bit to chase the heat. The smell is intoxicating, and the realization of just what it is he’s doing makes his dick throb where it’s pressed against the bedsheets. He’s got Zayn’s dick in his mouth. 

He doesn’t even think to look up, too focused on the steady bob of it, but Zayn breaks his movements by grabbing his chin and forcing them to make eye contact. Zayn’s abs are heaving, his pants making his body rise and fall like the tide, and it’s the most beautiful thing Liam’s seen in his life. This feeling, the feeling of being able to make someone quake under his touch, is so much more heady than sedating someone with his dick. Something like equality strings itself across the room at the way Zayn looks at him when he takes another inch in, when he follows the tug of Zayn’s hands at his hair. 

“Fuck, Li, I wish you could see yourself like this. Made for sucking cock.” He doesn’t mean to let out a moan but it strangles itself around Zayn’s dick, the vibrations making them both moan a second time.

“I bet you could do this all day. All you want is to be good, Li. Isn’t it? Do you want to be good for me again?” He nods do fast it makes his head spin, nods around the motion of Zayn fucking faster into his mouth. All of a sudden Liam feels himself being harshly tugged off, the burn from his sensitive hair going straight to the throbbing between his legs. Zayn’s kissing him, dick as hard as ever, curved up between their two stomachs. With no warning, he presses a finger insistently back into Liam’s heat, and Liam yelps at the sensitivity he feels.

“You think you could take me again, babe? Let me come deep inside you, this time, so you can feel me even after we’re done?” Zayn’s eyes are shot wide, manic, and Liam can’t do anything except bite his answer onto Zayn’s bottom lip. He opens his mouth willingly when Zayn slides three fingers in, his skin salty and rough against Liam’s tongue. “Close your eyes, Li, want you to tell me how I feel.” Liam doesn’t want to miss a second of Zayn like this, but the idea of doing what Zayn asks is much stronger. He closes his eyes, hearing Zayn’s movements on the bed above him. Zayn circles around his rim, the spit catching and making Liam take in a long drag of air to keep from giving himself away too soon. 

Zayn only circles his thumb gently into Liam’s hole for a second, and pulls out just as quickly. It sends shockwaves to the walls of Liam’s stomach. He feels more exposed than ever, not knowing what Zayn could be doing. Not needing to take care of a single thing. 

“Thought you were gonna tell me, Li.” Zayn mutters, sounding more distant. He summons up the words from deep in his throat.

“I feel open, Zayn, I feel- fuck,” he positively keens, feeling every slide of their skin together as Zayn buries himself in Liam in one thrust. He could scream, with this feeling, he could fly above their hotel and above the fucking clouds. He loses himself. Zayn bites deep into his earlobe, the noises they make mixing together in the best kind of harmony. Liam can feel him in his stomach, can feel each thrust shattering something deep inside his body. He can feel the stars in the sky, and the way the walls shake at every thrust of the headboard. He can feel Zayn’s heart over his, the way Zayn lets the pleasure control them. 

Until he can’t feel a thing. 

There are the threads on his back, the dim light over his closed eyelids, but it fades to the background. He thinks he feels something let go above him, can feel a release in the stagnant air, but all he sees is white.

He comes to with a wet towel on his forehead and a kiss to his nose.

“What just happened?” His voice sounds plagued, like the voice of someone out of his body. It bounces back to him from the ceiling, echoing across the floor.

“You left me for a minute, Li.” Zayn’s closer, the chasteness of his touch making Liam’s muscles settle back onto his bones. The cool air pillows itself briefly under the sheet Zayn throws over them, lifting his leg and arm to curl gently around Liam.

“I love you, you know. So fucking much.” Liam doesn’t know who says it, but he feels it through the stretch of their empty skin that rests pressed together. He feels it in Zayn’s steady heartbeat carving over his shoulder, in the press of Zayn’s lips to the top of his head. 

He believes it with all of his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry that most of this was written while I was intermittently falling asleep, so I apologize for some of the craziness and flow problems in the fic. Please don't hesitate to point out something that doesn't seem quite right. I hope that this was close enough to what the OP wanted, and I know there's more angst in here than anything else, but hey, this is about as fluffy as I go. 
> 
> I had a ton of fun with this prompt, along with the entire ficathon. I'm too tired to accurately articulate everything I want to say, so I'm sorry. Thank you to my anonymous prompter, the lovely Aimee, and every other reader, writer, and re-blogger that has made this ficathon what it is now. I love you guys, and I hope you enjoyed my fic. Please drop by and talk to me about writing! ziam! bottom liam! absolutely anything you feel like! I'm always free to talk:
> 
> saynomorefic@gmail.com  
> ziamstateofmind.tumblr.com
> 
> Love, June


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